


Redamancy

by prxnceling



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Pining, Slow Burn, gil galad and elrond bromance, imladris family, it's kind of a oneshot series so it's not suuuuper slow but. they go slow, minor galadriel/celeborn, well. slow burn ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prxnceling/pseuds/prxnceling
Summary: The love between Elrond Peredhel and Celebrían Celeborniel endured through the ages, despite hundreds of years of pining, their politically fraught marriage, and their forced separation. This is their story.
Relationships: Celebrían/Elrond Peredhel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Redamancy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @officialtolkiensecretsanta on Tumblr, who paired me up with a giftee who wanted to receive some Elrond/Celebrían. That was the push I needed to finally post the first chapter of this fic, which has been in the works for over a year.

Elrond fell in love with Celebrían over the course of a single day.

He was standing outside, overseeing things as a group worked to bring down a section of the wall. The wall around the stronghold was functional, of course, and had been very swiftly erected—Elrond had enlisted the help of every soldier and every refugee, down to the young children—but it was dreadfully ugly. If Gil-galad granted him this land to form a permanent settlement, as Elrond hoped he would, they would no longer do. And if he didn’t, they would no longer be necessary anyway. So Elrond had decided it was time to bring the eyesores down.

“Elrond!”

He whirled around. The clatter of hooves swelled, and at last from the trees two horses emerged, and atop them, two women.

In front was Galadriel, as dignified as ever, though her clothes were worn and dirtied from travel, and her hair was drawn back only in a loose braid. Behind her was a smaller figure, who slowly came into view. Petite, with ruddy cheeks and wild curls of silver hair. Celebrían, he supposed, Galadriel and Celeborn’s daughter whom he had not yet met.

“Where is my husband?” Galadriel’s sharp voice drew Elrond’s attention back to her. She slid from the back of her horse and landed firmly on her feet, and behind her Celebrían followed suit.

“He’s alive,” Elrond said in preface, and he watched some of the tension leave Galadriel’s shoulders with only that reassurance. Celebrían grasped her mother’s arm as she sagged, letting Galadriel lean on her for a brief moment as she gathered her breath. Behind them, the guards came to bring their horses to the makeshift stable.

“He was wounded in the liberation,” Elrond said. “I have him on bedrest still, so you will have to go to him.”

“Take us to him,” Galadriel said. Something in Elrond balked at being commanded, and his face must have shown it, because Celebrían added a hasty “please.” Galadriel looked perilously close to rolling her eyes, but Elrond chose to ignore it.

“Come with me,” Elrond said.

The makeshift halls of healing was a large tent, waterproof. Many of the white flaps were open, waving in the breeze; Elrond was constantly grateful for the temperate nature of this valley, for this siege would have seemed much longer and more terrible if it were cold or rainy or dreadfully hot all the time. Elrond pushed back one of the flaps and Galadriel ducked inside.

Celebrían stood for a moment, looking at him as he held the flap for her. Her eyes were silver, piercing, and for the first time he truly looked at her. She was beautiful, in a wild sort of way. As she looked at him, her lips quirked into a wry half-smile, and she bowed her head before she went into the tent after her mother.

Elrond realized belatedly that he had flushed bright red.

_Oh dear._

He shook his head in a vague attempt to clear it and followed them in.

Celeborn had a little corner to himself, isolated from the more gravely hurt. His injury was an arrow in his thigh; if it had been anywhere else, he would have been discharged already, but Elrond was loath to let him walk on it when it could make everything worse.

Galadriel fell to her knees at Celeborn’s side, leaning over the book he was reading to trap him in her arms. If Elrond did not know better, he might have said that he saw Galadriel tremble as one of Celeborn’s arms came around her to hold her tight.

The other arm stayed out, reached for his daughter. Celebrian’s eyes welled with tears and at last she launched herself into her father’s arms, grasping at her parents.

Elrond felt suddenly intrusive. He swiftly forced his eyes away from them and set to check in on his patients. He cast a glance occasionally to them. Their hug had ended, and they sat close, murmuring so quietly that he could not hear them over all the noise.

At last, when he was done checking in with those who were under his care, he looked over at Galadriel and her family one more time. He supposed that Galadriel and Celebrían would need somewhere to sleep, and he instructed one of the other healers to bring two more cots near to Celeborn. He wished he had something more to offer them than raised cots. Still, Elrond and Celeborn and all of the soldiers and refugees that had lived in the valley with them had slept on cots for nearly four years now, so he supposed Galadriel and Celebrían would have to bear it for a night or two. He left the tent and returned to his spot at the wall, but Celebrían’s face hovered at the edge of his mind.

-

Elrond had a little tent of his own—a small blessing, and one that guaranteed he would not become snippety or overstimulated, for he had somewhere to withdraw to for privacy. He went there that evening after dinner. When he closed the flap to his tent and was shielded from the wind, it was quite warm, so he stripped off his tunic and wore only his trousers. He lit the four torches in the corners of the tent, and he had just settled into his cot with a book when the voice came.

“Lord Elrond?” It was a sweet voice, unfamiliar, and Elrond jumped to his feet and went to get his tunic from the chair, even as a pale hand drew back his tent flap. _Celebrían._

He had not moved fast enough. She had seen him, and her face swiftly flushed to red.

“Lady Celebrían,” he said by way of greeting, nearly choking in his embarrassment.

“My apologies, my lord. I should not have come unannounced,” she said. Elrond knew that he was blushing, too, and he drew the tunic quickly around himself, doing the clasps.

“It’s all right,” he said. He managed a smile, motioning for her to come in. “Come, sit with me. I fear we are sorely lacking in chairs, but feel free to take a pillow from the cot and sit on it. Would you like some wine? I was about to have some.” A new luxury brought by Gil-galad, and one that had been sorely missed over the years of siege.

“Oh, all right. If you insist, my lord,” she said, smiling that crooked smile again. Elrond turned to take the bottle from under his cot and two glasses, and he poured her wine and handed it to her as she settled on her pillow.

“There is no need for formalities,” he said. “And I do not think that we have been properly introduced. I am Elrond.”

“Celebrían,” she said.

“What brings you here, then?” he asked. He had his own wine glass in one hand, and he took a pillow and tossed it onto the floor, sitting on it with his legs stretched before him. Celebrían was sitting in her pillow with her legs crossed, her back as straight as a board, and she was perfectly balanced. She reminded Elrond of a bird.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she said. “My mother is too prideful for such a thing, but truly we owe you that much. My father is well, and he survived this long under your leadership.”

“And his own force of will,” Elrond said with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Truly. And even if I had not been here, someone else would have stepped into this role.”

“You have my thanks nonetheless.”

It would be rude to argue any more, so Elrond nodded in what he hoped was a gracious fashion. A moment passed in silence.

“It is strange that we have not met before this,” Celebrían said at last. “You have known my parents for some time.”

“Aye. But we do not meet very often. I’ll admit that I did not know your father particularly well, before this ordeal.”

“And you do now?”

“Living under siege with someone for four years tends to do that,” he said. She sighed a little.

“Was it terrible?”

“Living under siege?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose. Supplies become sparse. But it is certainly better than outright war. Many of the refugees from Eregion joined us. Plenty of civilians, and children, who are safe now. Things could have gone much worse.”

She did not reply. He looked up to her and she was smiling at him, a tender thing that was not as wide as her wry half-smile from before. He felt himself flush.

“And what will happen to the people here, now that the siege is over? There is no Eregion to return to,” she said. Elrond thought briefly to the destruction and shuddered once.

“That is the matter that the council tomorrow will be discussing, among other things,” he said after a moment. “For my part, I would like to make a permanent settlement here. It is beautiful, and it has proved itself well defendable. And I do not have the heart to make them move again. Not after everything they have been through.”

“Well, you’re right that it is beautiful,” she said. “Though that wall…”

“Yes, the wall will have to go,” he said, chuckling a little. “It’s not very easy on the eyes. If we were to stay here permanently, it would be worth investing in a good team of architects. And we have people gathered here with much knowledge of some of the most beautiful realms that have ever been.”

“And would you count yourself among them?”

“Me?” He laughed a little. “Not more than any person here, really. I’ve lived in Númenor, when Elros was alive, and then in Lindon, but I do not want this to be merely a copy of Lindon, for that still stands. Before that I was constantly encamped with Gil-galad during the War of Wrath, and did not have much time for sightseeing...I suppose it does remind me somewhat of Sirion, or what I remember of it. You could always hear the water there, too.”

“How fitting that you should form a new realm for refugees,” she said. “When you were born in one.”

He pondered this for a moment. Her face immediately fell.

“I’m sorry. That was not very kind of me to say.”

“No! No, do not worry. You are right,” he said. “I had not thought about it that way. Perhaps that is why my heart is so attached to these people—my parents were refugees. And this could be another chance for Sirion, protected properly, this time.”

“It’s a very noble sentiment,” she said. “I would very much like to help you—if you will have me. My mother at least is in no hurry to return to Lindórinand. If the others in your council will agree to making a permanent settlement here, then I will try to convince my parents to stay for a while.”

“I would love to have you,” he said. He realized how it sounded and flushed, quickly backtracking. “We need all the hands we can get, and I am sure you have much to offer.”

“I would start with gardens,” Celebrían said matter-of-factly. “Flowers would bring some joy to this place. And I have a gift for that. The weather here would be good for it.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Elrond said. Another moment lapsed in silence.

“Your father spoke very highly of you, and often,” Elrond said. “I can see why.” She nodded and chuckled a little.

“That is his wont. I find it amusing, for the most part.”

“He is very proud of you. His greatest fear was that something had happened to you.”

“My mother would never let anything happen to me,” she said with a small smile. It seemed that she was thinking of something, and then decided not to tell him after all.

“Speaking of my mother, I really should go,” she said. “It’s getting late.”

“Of course.” He took her empty wine glass from her as they both rose from their pillows. She smiled.

“Remember to keep me on call to be your gardener,” she said. He shook his head.

“That sounds so menial. From the sounds of it, your gardens will be much more than just gardens.” He thought for a moment.

“I hope Glorfindel will be my Master of Arms, and Erestor my Master of Knowledge. And I would have you, my Mistress of Flowers.”

“You flatter me,” she said, chuckling a little.

_Impossible._

“Good night, Elrond.”

“Good night.”

She left. The conversation had left Elrond smiling for the first time in a very long time. He realized then that he was hopelessly in love with her, his Mistress of Flowers, and there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

Celebrían fell in love with Elrond over the course of ten years.

That was the length of time that it took for her to have her gardens fully imagined, for they were not so simply planted. They had to be perfect, she had decided, though her heart did not yet reveal to her why exactly it seemed so imperative that this gift for Imladris’ new lord be the most wondrous of Celebrían’s achievements thus far. She only knew that she wanted to make it gorgeous. It was for the refugees, she told herself, not for him. Not to see the look on his face when he saw what she had done, how much beauty she had brought, how skilled she was. No. It was for his people.

She did not see him very often at all. Elrond had much to attend to, overseeing every part of the building and governing at the same time, and trying desperately to keep Galadriel and Gil-galad from catastrophically butting heads, as they usually did when confined in the same space. He had his hands full, so Celebrían did not seek him out. But she caught glimpses of him, and thus she noticed things. Noticed the light in his dark grey eyes, the strength, the hope, the way he naturally stood with his chest out just enough to show he was confident without forcing it. The way his hair ran straight near the top, and then formed little waves near his narrow waist. (She had to quite carefully avoid thinking of the night she had gone to his tent and seen him half-naked, lest her thoughts drift too far.) And the gentleness of him, the kindness, the patience. She had seen plenty of leaders lead, but none with Elrond’s effortlessness, softness. And little by little, she came to love him for it.

But she was also busy. Besides the year of designing, it was hard to plant the gardens as she wanted them, for _everyone_ was busy _._ Every free hand was working on actually building Elrond’s house, and if they weren’t helping with that, they were building little houses of their own in the villages. The more skilled hands had followed under Glorfindel and Erestor’s direction, forging weapons and copying books. And that left nearly no one, at any skill level, who was willing to help Celebrían with her gardening.

She eventually gathered a small workforce in the form of the valley’s children. They were young, of course, but there was something strange and deep and sad in their eyes, and the shadow of the war and siege they had witnessed was obvious over their young heads. Celebrían despised it. There was something about their eyes that reminded Celebrían of Elrond, even though she did not know him well—she supposed that the lord had been a child like that, once, and had never really grown out of it.

The children helped her happily, for their parents were often helping with larger projects. They liked to work with her—she was kind to them, and could make them laugh, and could teach them how to sing so that the plants would grow strong. The days were filled with fun alongside the strenuous work, and Celebrían was glad for it.

It was on one such day that she sat in the dirt with her trowel, instructing a little girl on how deep to dig the holes for this particular type of seed. Celebrían walked towards the house to fill her watering can, and along the way heard the sudden, high wail of a child. She rushed forward, and just managed to stop herself as the scene came into view.

“Hush, little one. It’s all right. What happened?”

Elrond. He reached the child first, reaching to hoist the boy up with one arm and hold him. The other hand went to the child’s cheek, dabbing at the tears with the sleeve of his tunic.

“I f-fell,” the child sobbed, his hands forming fists in the fabric of Elrond’s shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut and more tears dribbled down. Elrond gave up on the effort to dry the child’s face, instead wrapping his second arm around him and pressing the child into a stronger embrace. The boy hid his face against Elrond’s shoulder.

“It’s all right. Did you hurt yourself? Oh dear, that’s no fun at all,” Elrond said sympathetically, his brow furrowed as he craned his neck to view the skinned knee, hardly bleeding, really. Celebrían supposed it was shock more than pain that made children cry, but perhaps it really did hurt more when one was so small. But Elrond treated it with all the seriousness of a real wound, and the tender look on his face as he set the child down to examine his knee made Celebrían’s heart jolt.

“All right. That’s quite nasty. You’re very brave!” Elrond praised, and the boy sniffled. “What’s your name?”

“Sílon,” the boy whimpered, and Elrond repeated the name softly.

“I’m Elrond,” he said. “And I have a secret to share with you. Do you want to know it?”

“What kind of secret?” Sílon asked. His tears slowed with the distraction.

“A very secret secret.”

“That’s the best kind!”

“I know,” Elrond said, and he was smiling but not laughing. “It is. My secret is a very secret secret. So secret, in fact, that I don’t think I’ll tell you at all. I think you have to figure it out yourself.”

“No fair!”

“It’s more than fair. Come now, close your eyes, and when you open them, maybe you’ll be able to figure it out.”

Sílon covered his face with his fingers, but his glittering eyes peeked through. He gasped as Elrond took the scraped knee in his hands, pressed his thumbs against the sore flesh, and in an instant, it had healed over.

“What did you do?” Sílon exclaimed. Elrond chuckled.

“That’s the secret.”

Elrond chuckled, and even as Sílon continued his questioning, gave no more answers.

“What are you doing in the gardens all alone, penneth?”

“I’m not alone. I’m helping Celebrían with the plants.”

Something in Elrond’s face softened. Celebrían’s heart jumped.

“How wonderful,” he said, and his voice was low. “Tell her I said hello, please. And come and find me if you figure out my secret.”

He leaned to muss the child’s dark hair, and Sílon scampered off. Elrond watched him fondly, and from her place hidden in the foliage, Celebrían knew with sudden certainty three things.

First, Elrond would make an excellent father.

Second, if she ever had children, she would want them to have a father like him.

And third, perhaps that could be a possibility, for she was hopelessly, utterly in love with him.

* * *

The months blended into years. Gil-galad had held his council, given Elrond permission to build his valley into a permanent realm, a new stronghold in Eriador, and the refugees who had come there with Elrond and his soldiers would be free to live there if they wished. Gil-galad had also given him the ring, Vilya, despite the protests of Galadriel that Elrond was too young to wield the most powerful of the Three. Gil-galad had disregarded her, saying her opinion was irrelevant since she had not engaged in the war, and went on his way.

As she had said she would, Celebrían had convinced Galadriel and Celeborn to stay in the valley for a while, though Elrond was less happy about it than he would have been had Galadriel not spoken against him at the council.

The next few years went by in a blur of building. The old walls from the siege were knocked down, and his team of architects enlisted the help of all the current residents in the valley. They built his house from the inside out, and individual families set to building their own houses in little villages that cropped up nearby. When it was all done, it was still empty, and Elrond set Erestor to the task of finding and copying books for the spacious library, and Glorfindel to acquiring enough weapons to fill their racks. And Celebrían, of course, began to design her gardens. Elrond had little time to help her, but she would not really have wanted his help anyway, he supposed—he knew little about gardening. She had been working on the project quietly for years after he asked her to start, without reporting to him. With anyone else, he would have found it off-putting, but with her, he felt a strange sense of trust. She would do this right.

He went on a short trip out from the valley to visit again with Gil-galad, and now Gil-galad was returning with him to see how much progress he had made in Imladris. When they returned with their large escort, Celebrían rode out to meet them.

“Elrond!” she called. She was a good rider, steady, and she maneuvered her way around Gil-galad at the head of the group with a soft greeting. She did not stop but turned her horse to fall into step beside Elrond’s. She was grinning. He had not seen her in so long.

“Celebrían,” he said in return, and he could not resist a smile—the sight of her joy brought it out of him. “What brings you here? Surely you could have waited for me to arrive, if you wanted to speak to me?”

“That’s just it! I couldn’t wait. I have a surprise for you. Let the others go into the main gate, but come with me another way, so that I can show you.”

Elrond’s escort watched him, waiting to see if he would agree. Elrond looked to Gil-galad, who had turned to look back at the two of them with a little smile.

“I will see you when you get back,” Gil-galad said, nodding. Celebrían dismounted her horse, so Elrond followed suit, and their two horses followed the main group as Celebrían broke apart from them and Elrond followed.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re going to ruin the surprise!” she chided.

“I’ve never been particularly fond of surprises,” he admitted. “Usually when I am surprised, something very bad has happened.”

“Well I love surprises,” she said. “And once you have a few good ones, you will too. Humor me.”

He did humor her, and he fell silent after a moment.

“How was your visit with Gil-galad?” she asked.

“Good, I suppose. Peace seems to have settled, for now,” Elrond said.

“For now? Do you think there will be another war?”

They were going uphill now. Elrond looked around, but he could not quite tell where they were going.

“In time. Sauron was weakened by this, but he was not defeated. He will rise again, and we must be ready for it.”

“I suppose you would not consider this a proper peacetime, then,” Celebrían said.

“I would not. But I have never been alive during true peacetime, I think—well, other than in the early days of Númenor, but I anticipated Elros’ death and thus found little peace there. I suppose there’s been peace since then...maybe this feeling is just my paranoia,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and smiling a little, though there was no joy in it.

“I would call it wisdom,” Celebrían said sagely. “Unfortunately for the wise, they see much of the bad in the world. But it is good for the rest of us, who will be protected and saved by your wisdom in the long term.”

“I hope so.” Perhaps that would make it worth it. “And I think _you_ are wiser than you are giving yourself credit for.”

She smiled, and her silver eyes glittered as she looked at him. Elrond held her gaze for a moment too long and his cheeks flushed. The hill had gotten even steeper, and it was nearly like they were climbing stairs now on the rocky terrain.

“Are we nearly at our destination?” he asked. She chuckled.

“Why, are you tired?”

“No,” he said, a little too defensively, and she laughed. It was the most beautiful sound that Elrond had ever heard, and he found himself blushing again, darker this time. He said nothing more.

A few more minutes passed, and the only sound between them was their breathing, and the soft footsteps as they climbed. At last Celebrían came to the edge of a ridge, and as Elrond followed behind her he could see that she was already grinning.

“This is it. Are you ready to be surprised?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling. She tugged his arm to bring him forward to look over the edge and down into the valley below.

For a moment, he had no idea where he was. Where his house once was, pale stone and wood isolated against the dark earth, there was now a bright canvas of color, the likes of which he had never seen before. Around his gate there were blossoms, purple and gold for the colors of his house, and around the sides of the house he could spot the zig-zags of small footpaths amidst flowering trees and plants. There were people in the gardens already, walking slowly, and they seemed tiny from so far away. Not only had Celebrían planted the gardens in the space that Elrond had allotted for it, but she had also decorated the rest of the areas around the house, even surrounding the training fields and the walls, and in the month that Elrond had been gone, it had all bloomed. There were even little patches of green on top of some of the flat roofs.

Elrond did not realize that his jaw had gone slack until he heard Celebrian’s musical chuckle beside him. He turned to her, the shock on his face morphing into a wide grin.

“It’s magnificent!” he cried, and her face glowed with pride. “May I hug you?”

“If you wish,” she said, and she laughed as he wrapped his arms around her and held tight, resisting the urge to lift her up and spin her around in his joy. He let go of her after a moment and went closer to the edge of the ridge to get a better look.

“It’s gorgeous,” he said, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of it. “It’s more wonderful than I ever could have dreamed. How can I ever thank you for this?”

“You can say thank you,” she said, laughing. “That is all.”

“ _Thank you,”_ he said, quite emphatically, and as he looked back to her she took his breath away. The way the light filtered through the trees painted her face a golden color, and as she looked out at her handiwork, the smile on her face was one of pure joy.

“Thank you,” Elrond said again, quieter. He could not force his gaze away from her. “It is so beautiful.” _You are so incredible._

“You’re very welcome, Elrond,” she said. She looked to him, and this time he held her gaze, even as his cheeks warmed. “I am so glad you like it.”

“I love it,” he said.

_I love you._

In another lifetime, he might have said it. But they had only just been discussing the fact that this was not peacetime, not properly, and he did not dare to pursue her when he had so much else on his mind. She deserved his full attention, and he could not yet give it to her.

Maybe he could one day.

Or maybe he never would be able to.

His heart hurt. He drew his gaze away from her and back to the house.

“Shall we go down? I want to see them from within,” he said, forcing a smile. She seemed to tell that his demeanor had changed despite his best efforts, and she reached to gently put her hand over his on the rock for a moment.

Her hand was warm, small, pale against his olive skin.

She drew away and started back the way they had come. Elrond followed her, reeling still from the softness of her touch.

“There was something else I wished to tell you,” Celebrían said, after they had walked for a few minutes in silence. Elrond nodded for her to continue.

“Now that my work here is done, my mother wants to leave, and my father and I will go with her. She said we will settle in Belfalas.”

“You will be sorely missed,” Elrond said softly. Celebrían smiled.

“You’ll hardly notice I’m gone,” she said. Elrond realized that to her it probably seemed like he had kept her here only for her skill, for he had never sought her out despite her constant presence. Perhaps he had driven her away with his business, his lack of care.

“I will,” he said. “But I wish you the best anyway. And know that you are always welcome here.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Elrond wanted so badly to grasp her hand, to speak his own truth to her, but he would not. He could not. He kept his mouth firmly shut as the pain mounted in his heart all the way home.

* * *

She wanted him. More than she had ever wanted anything.

And that was why she would leave.

It was clear that there was something between them. He blushed when their eyes met, and her heart fluttered, and it was beyond the simple shyness of a crush, now. It was teetering on the edge of something more. But his wisdom had told him that this was not true peacetime, and she knew that meant that they could not do this. Not now. And if he found someone else in the time between now and their next meeting, maybe it would be never be anything.

She did not know if she could bear that thought.

She was lying in bed. They had beds now, and little rooms in Elrond’s house. It was much better than the cots, but still not fully finished. She had been struggling for hours to find some way to organize her thoughts into something peaceful. It was impossible. She rolled onto her other side with a groan.

_Maybe I could stay._ Couldn’t she? She could stay and wait for him to be ready. She could keep just enough of his attention so that she wasn’t a distraction, but she could keep him from moving on. They could wait in this yearning stage for as long as it took for the next war to erupt and end.

_As long as he survives the next war._ The thought came with a wave of panic, and she tensed.

“Celebrían?” Galadriel’s voice. Celebrían sat up. She tried to force an expression onto her face that was not so upset.

“What is it?” Galadriel asked, coming to sit beside her and taking one of Celebrían’s hands in her own.

“Do we have to go?” Celebrían asked. Galadriel’s face softened.

“What makes you want to stay? Your work here is beautiful, but it is done. We have never been a family that lingers where we are not needed.”

“I know.” It was what had drawn them from Eregion. Celebrían sighed softly.

“I feel…like I could be at home here,” Celebrían said. _I’ve found love here._ “Can’t we stay a while? Just a few more years…”

“If you stay here now I’ll never get you to leave. But I cannot stay under Elrond’s authority.”

“Why not? He’s just and kind, Ammë. You will be under someone else’s authority in Edhellond, too.”

“He’s a child. He’s not much older than you,” Galadriel scoffed. “And he knows now that I don’t approve of Ereinion giving him Vilya. I don’t think he’ll stand for us to stay.”

“He’ll let us stay for as long as I ask him to,” Celebrían said, and her voice had softened at the thought. Galadriel’s face tightened.

“I will not stand for it, Arvarilë. I won’t. There is nothing for you here.”

For a moment, Celebrían considered screaming the truth in her mother’s face— _I love him! One day I will marry him!_ —But she knew it would be a fruitless effort. She fell silent, bowed her head and nodded after a moment. Galadriel sighed. A warm hand touched Celebrían’s head, and Galadriel smoothed her hair down.

“Pack tonight. We’ll be on to better things tomorrow.”

Soft footsteps left the room, and the door opened, and then closed. Celebrían was biting her tongue so hard that it had started to bleed.

* * *

They left the next week. Gil-galad was still in the valley, so he went with Elrond in the morning to see them off—it was only proper that he show Galadriel and Celeborn respect, after all, to maintain their often-strained relationship. Celeborn stood with the horses as Galadriel went to speak to Gil-galad, and Celebrían went to Elrond.

“Will you visit? I fear the gardens will lose their beauty without you to maintain them,” Elrond said.

“I will try. It is a long journey, and if things grow more perilous, it will be impossible for me to get here,” she said, and he had to concede. He nodded once and swallowed tightly, surprised by the tightness of his throat.

“I will miss your presence,” he said softly. “And I must thank you again, for making this place into a true home. I only wish you could stay to enjoy it.”

“This is not my home, Elrond,” she said. “My home is where my parents are, for that is where my heart will lie. I would wither if I stayed here alone.” He could hardly bear the thought.

“I am glad that you love them,” Elrond said. “And I can only hope to see you again.” She smiled a little at that.

“I will do my best,” she said. “Goodbye, Elrond.”

“Goodbye, Celebrían.”

She went over to her horse, and even as Elrond said his goodbyes to Galadriel, he glanced over her shoulder to watch her daughter mount her horse. Galadriel and Celeborn soon followed suit, and Celebrían trailed behind them as they went down the path. At the last moment, she turned and looked to Elrond. She raised her hand in a little wave, and then let it drop. She turned and did not look back again. She disappeared into the trees.

Elrond stood there for a moment, grappling with the strange tension in his heart, a sadness. Loss.

“Elrond.” It was Gil-galad’s voice. Apparently he had been standing there, staring after them for a moment too long. Elrond turned back to his king.

“You love her,” Gil-galad said. It was not a question. His face was soft, open. Elrond swallowed.

“I do,” he said. “But there is nothing to be done about it.”

“Well, you could tell her.”

“Absolutely not,” Elrond said, a little too quickly and a little too defensively. He sighed.

“I’m sorry. That was harsh of me,” he said. “But I will not do that. Not until I can give her the attention she deserves.”

“And what if you miss your chance?” Gil-galad asked.

“Then I will miss it, and she will have someone who deserves her.”

“Elrond, you deserve the world,” Gil-galad said. “And if you think that being with her will make you happy, then you should pursue her.”

“No,” Elrond said, and his voice was choked. “No. I’m not brave enough for that.”

“You are. Or you will be,” Gil-galad said. He reached out to grasp Elrond’s shoulder. “If she returns to visit you, promise you’ll talk to her about it. She would not make the journey so far if she did not care for you.”

“Okay,” Elrond said. “Okay. I’ll try.”

And so he waited.

A thousand years passed, and Celebrían did not return.

* * *

The War of the Last Alliance was over. Peacetime had descended upon them.

It was different from the peace that Celebrían had known before. It was truer, surer, not born from simply being shielded by her parents but from the knowledge that the war and its dominion were ended. Sauron had been defeated. Gil-galad and Oropher and Elendil were dead. And a new order to the world was arising, with all sources pointing to Elrond at its head.

_This is your chance._

She packed up her things, arranged a guard, and prepared to leave the next morning.

“What are you doing?” Galadriel asked. “I’ve heard you’re arranging to take a dozen of Amroth’s marchwardens tomorrow—where are you going?”

“I’m going to Imladris,” Celebrían said, folding a shirt to put in her pack, trying to school her face into a mask of calm.

“Whatever for?”

“I told you an age ago that I felt I could be at home there,” Celebrían said. “And this is my chance.”

“You have a home _here_ ,” Galadriel said. “You have us. What can Elrond offer you that Lothlorien cannot?”

“His love,” Celebrían said flatly. She turned to Galadriel, summoned her will, and looked her mother in the eye. “I am in love with him, Ammë, and now that there is peace I will go and see if he intends to marry me.”

Galadriel stood, stone-faced, for a long moment. Her lips pursed dangerously.

“You’re deluding yourself.”

“I’m not! If it had not been for the threat of war that loomed I believe he would’ve married me when we met.”

“It was a thousand years ago!” Galadriel said. “He will not remember you.”

The thought sent a pang of fear through Celebrían’s heart that was so strong that her hand went immediately to rest atop her chest. Then the twinge turned to fury.

“You cannot discredit my feelings, nor his, simply because you do not like his _company,_ Ammë. And he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve your wrath except be close with Ereinion. If I didn’t know better, I’d say your jealous of the power he has, but you might’ve gained it yourself if you’d been willing to fight! The others do not use their rings as an excuse to hide!”

Galadriel blanched.

“Mind your tone,” she hissed. It took all of Celebrían’s strength not to cower in the face of her mother’s anger.

Galadriel stood, her face cold, for a long moment.

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Call it whatever you wish, Ammë,” Celebrían said, managing to keep her voice quieter now. “A delusion, a mistake. But I love him, and I will go to him, in hopes that he still loves me in return. I am more than grown now, and my fate is not yours to design.”

A pause.

“Well, write to me when you decide to come home,” Galadriel said, her voice barely restrained. Celebrían swallowed past the lump in her throat.

“And what if I do marry him?”

“You won’t.”

“You know many things, Ammë, but you don’t know that.”

A pause, a sigh. Galadriel’s face softened to something deep and sad.

“Then write to me and your father, and we will come. I cannot bless this, you know, but I cannot stop you from doing as you wish.”

A terrible mix of gratefulness and melancholy washed over Celebrían, so strong that she nearly lost her footing.

“Thank you, Ammë,” she said, and her voice shook. Galadriel turned and walked away, and Celebrían did not know whether to smile or cry.

* * *

The next time Elrond saw Celebrían, Gil-galad was dead.

Elrond did not know what to do. He had known Gil-galad and served only him since the age of seventeen, and thousands of years had passed since then. Who had he been before he was a servant to the king? A child, an angry, bitter child, and he could never go back to that, even if he wanted to. This territory was entirely new, and it stretched out before him, lonely. He had returned to Imladris with most of his army—those who had survived and still wished for home—and struggled to settle back in to some sort of routine.

His primary distraction was Valandil, Isildur’s youngest son. The child was eleven when Elrond met him upon his return from the war, and he had been living with his mother in Imladris since his birth, for she had been sent there for her safety when she was pregnant with him. Now he was thirteen, and his father and brothers were dead. Valandil would one day take the throne of Arnor, when he was old enough. Until then, it was left to Elrond to foster him alongside his mother.

“Are you finished reading?” Elrond asked. They were sitting in the garden. It was not quite as beautiful as it had been when Celebrían had first designed it, for war had stretched their resources thin yet again. Still, in the two years since his return, it had brightened considerably, and when the weather was as pleasant as today, he often brought Valandil outside for his lessons.

“Nearly,” Valandil said. His eyes stayed on the page for another long minute, and then he looked up.

“And what questions do you have for me?”

This was how he staged their history lessons. Valandil would read from a book about some event or another, and then ask Elrond about it. Considering his long life and involvement in politics throughout, Elrond knew much more than the history books told.

“Tell me about how the valley was founded. All it says here is the year, and that it was under siege for a while, and then you decided with Ereinion to keep it as a stronghold. But how did you go about it?”

“Well, I was lucky that I had become close with Erestor and Glorfindel, before all that,” Elrond said. “Glorfindel had been reborn for nearly a century at that point, and Erestor I had known since we were both young in Sirion, and we were reunited in Lindon. I knew that I could trust them. So I set Glorfindel as my Master of Arms, and he oversaw the military and all of our weaponry. And Erestor was my Master of Knowledge, so he oversaw the gathering of books and the beginnings of education for all the refugee children.”

“They still have those positions today,” Valandil said, writing something down in his notes.

“Indeed. They’re very good at them. They have had two thousand years of practice,” Elrond said with a small chuckle.

“What did you do, then?”

“Well, their work freed me to oversee the building. So I worked with the architects day and night, and everyone who didn’t already have a job to do banded together to work on building the house, and their own houses in the villages. Before that it was all just tents. That had worked in the siege, but it was not sustainable in the long term.”

Valandil nodded, still writing.

“As I was doing this, Lady Celebrían—the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn—had offered to help design the gardens. I left her to it, for the most part, just as I had left Glorfindel and Erestor’s duties to them.” He had thought about Celebrían more often than he liked to admit, but this was the first time he had spoken aloud about her to anyone but Gil-galad.

“I named her Mistress of Flowers. And within a few years she had designed all these gardens, and made the house into what it is now.”

“She is not still here,” Valandil said, looking up at him curiously.

“Indeed she is not. She went with her parents to Belfalas—her mother never liked me much, and she did not want to stay here any longer. I have not heard from her since then, and that was a long time ago.”

“Indeed it was.”

The voice from behind him made Elrond jump, and he stood up, whirling around to face whoever had managed to sneak up on him.

Silver hair. A wry half-smile. Flushed cheeks.

_Celebrían._

“My lady,” Elrond breathed. Celebrían laughed.

“I thought we had banished formality two thousand years ago,” she said. “It is good to see you, Elrond.”

“What are you doing here?” Elrond asked, his voice quiet with shock.

“I wanted to see you. And I thought it would be a nice surprise,” Celebrían said. She looked past him to Valandil, who was still sitting in the grass, watching them. “And who’s this?”

“Valandil. My foster son,” Elrond said numbly. “Valandil, this is Lady Celebrían, whom we were just discussing.”

“I could tell as much,” Valandil said. He rose and gathered his book and parchment and looked between the two of them for a moment.

“May I be dismissed, Adar?”

“You may. I’ll see you at dinner. Tell the guard when you go in to have a suite prepared for Lady Celebrían, please.”

“Yes, Adar.”

Valandil’s footsteps faded. Elrond was still staring at Celebrían, trying to blink away his surprise. Celebrían chuckled.

“Come sit with me,” she said. “Somewhere private. I want to hear about all that’s happened since I saw you last.”

It was not a happy story, and Elrond did not much want to tell it, but he did not argue. He followed Celebrían mutely as she walked down the path. Not much had changed in the layout, and he assumed she had a particular spot in mind for them to sit.

“You did not visit,” he said, suddenly finding his voice as they walked. Celebrían sighed a little.

“I wanted to,” she said. “But when the roads were safe, there was never time, and often they were not. I would have come if I could. You know that.”

Did he know that? Why, after all, would she have had reason to come? She had everything she needed with her parents. Why would she even want to see him? He felt a swell of shame for having asked her to return at all, when he had no right to.

“I’m sorry,” Elrond said.

“I’ve no idea what you’re apologizing for, but that’s enough of that,” Celebrían said, and her voice was irritated enough that Elrond shut up completely. She brought him to an isolated bench in the middle of a little patch of pale blue flowers, and motioned for him to sit beside her.

“Tell me what’s happened in the years since I saw you last,” she said. Elrond let out a morose little chuckle.

“Celebrían, it’s been two thousand years. Much has happened—too much to summarize so easily.” He took a long breath to calm. She meant no harm.

“Gil-galad is gone. That is the thing that has changed the most, and that was only recently.”

“I had heard as much. I’m so sorry, Elrond—I know how much he meant to you.”

She did not know how much Gil-galad meant to him, but Elrond did not protest. The brotherly bond between them had been unique, completely trusting, and the support that Elrond had needed after Elros’ death. Now he had no brothers to speak of.

“Tell me how things have been with _you,”_ Elrond said, looking to Celebrían. His lips quirked into a half-hearted smile. “And your parents.”

“As well as they can be, I suppose,” she said. “There is…some tension there that was not there before. I wanted them to go to war, march off with you and Gil-galad and fight. You could have used their skill. But they would not go. I tire of seeing them let others fight the battles that they could fight themselves.”

Elrond registered his own shock at the statement. Celebrían loved her parents dearly, and he had not thought her capable of criticizing them. He took a long moment to think.

“I suppose you’re right,” Elrond said. “Perhaps with your mother there, the power of all three of our rings together, we might’ve done better.” _We might’ve saved Gil-galad._ “But there is nothing to be done about it now. That’s not why you’ve come, is it? To get away from them?”

“Not really. Though I think the time away will do me good. They forget I am a grown woman sometimes,” Celebrían said, shaking her head. “And they disagree with some things I’ve decided for myself, my mother especially.”

“Like what?”

“Like who I have chosen to love.”

Elrond’s heart dropped to his stomach.

_Don’t show it. Don’t show it._ He wanted to cry, suddenly, but he could not let her know that.

“Oh?” He managed a smile that he hoped was not as wobbly as it felt. “He is a lucky man. I take it you have not yet wed him, though, if your mother disapproves.”

“I do not have her blessing, but I have her permission,” Celebrían said. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and Elrond realized suddenly that she was nervous. Why was she nervous?

“That is part of why I have come here,” Celebrían said. “To speak to him.”

“If he is one of my people, I will be able to find him for you within the day, if you’ll give me his name.”

She looked at him suddenly, and her eyes were blazing.

“Elrond, I thought you were a bit more perceptive than this.” Her face was flushed with humiliation and his eyes widened.

“I d-don’t know what you mean.”

“Who have I come to speak to? I did not journey so far for some random man. I’ve come here to speak with _you._ And I have come to speak to the one I have chosen to love. _”_

“I still don’t—”

_I’ve come to speak to the one I have chosen to love._

_Oh._

“Celebrían,” he whispered, and his voice trembled. “Please, don’t mock me like this.”

“I’m not mocking you, Elrond—I would not do that,” she said, and she looked hurt by the implication that she would. Elrond’s throat clogged with feeling.

“If you are saying what I think you’re saying—” he admitted, hardly a breath. “—Then it is all I’ve wanted to hear, every day since I met you. And if you’re not, I think you’ve broken my heart.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he shook his head and grasped her small hands within both of his own. They were pale but warm, and her fingers tightened around his.

“Celebrían, I love you,” Elrond whispered.

“I know, Elrond,” she said. “And I love you, too.”

Elrond’s heart soared, and it took him by surprise. He had been in a gloomy haze of grief for two years now, with no hope of ever muddling his way through to the other side, but his heart still had the capacity for such great joy.

“You mean that?” he asked. She nodded, letting out a breathless laugh.

“I do, Elrond. I promise.”

A shuddering laugh left him, saturated with his shock.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered at last. “I wish it hadn’t been so long.”

“I would have told you then,” she said. “Except that you’d told me that you knew it was not true peacetime. And you were right, in the end.”

“I know.” His face sobered some. She reached up to touch his cheek.

“But we have peace now,” she said. “And we must not waste it, Elrond.”

“I know,” he said again. “…Let me court you, my Mistress of Flowers. And let us see where this leads us.”

“All right,” Celebrían said. They sat like that for a while, hands entwined, looking out at her gardens, the Lord of Imladris and his Mistress of Flowers.


End file.
